


Flying - As Told By A (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon

by Phoenix_Rose



Series: History - As Described By a (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crashing whilst flying, Crowley and Aziraphale are still oblivious and dumb, Flying, M/M, Manchester, Wings, mentions the Nativity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Rose/pseuds/Phoenix_Rose
Summary: Aziraphale let out a little yelp as Crowley tugged out yet another broken feather.  Crowley tsked at him before, rolling his eyes, soothing it with a puff of miraculous breath.  “What did you do to yourself, angel?”  The angel mumbled something under his breath.  Crowley frowned at him.  “What was that?”“I crashed into a duck,” he grumbled.“You what?”





	Flying - As Told By A (Slightly Incompetent) Angel and Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Edited 13/07/19 to include linked footnotes.

Aziraphale let out a little yelp as Crowley tugged out yet another broken feather. Crowley tsked at him before, rolling his eyes, soothing it with a puff of miraculous breath. “What did you do to yourself, angel?” The angel mumbled something under his breath. Crowley frowned at him. “What was that?”

“I crashed into a duck,” he grumbled.

“You _what_?”

“Hello!” Anathema called, walking in to the sound of a demon laughing loudly and uncontrollably and an angel complaining just quietly enough to go - almost - unheard.

Aziraphale looked over at her and smoothed his expression just long enough to say, “Ah, hello, my dear,” before going back to griping at Crowley. Who was, of course, still laughing as he neatened up the angel’s wings.

“What on earth happened?” she said, looking at the messed up feathers and the mess on Crowley’s floor.

“I-”

“He crashed into a duck!”

“It wasn’t looking where it was going,” Aziraphale huffed with dignity. “Really, if things want to fly they should make an effort not to crash into us.”

“Is the duck ok?” Anathema put in.

“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “Miraculously.”

Crowley choked on his laughter and shook his head. “Angel...”

“Oh, _come_ now, dear,” he said reproachfully. “You’ve had accidents, too.”

“Name _one_.”

“Woodstock,” the angel practically purred. “What was it? A raven? A magpie?”

“A crow,” he grumbled.

“Ah, yes. And in front of all those people, too.” Aziraphale smiled, far too innocent to be truly innocent. “You’re damned lucky it was the sixties.”

Crowley scowled and yanked out a feather with a little more force than strictly necessary. [1]

“And,” Aziraphale said, as soon as he’d stopped fussing over the pain in his wing, “there was Beetham Tower.”

“What happened at Beetham tower?” Anathema asked, trying not to giggle too obviously. She crouched down and took one of Aziraphale’s feathers, rolling the quill between her fingers.  It didn’t seem so different to a bird’s feather, and yet… It was, as Azi would tell her, ineffable. [2]

“He crashed into it,” Aziraphale smirked. “It’d been finished for about three days before he smacked into the top floor window.”

“Bloody Manchessster,” Crowley hissed.

“Your own fault, dear. _You_ wanted a free-reign. You specifically put it into the Arrangement.”

“I know I put it in the blessed Arrangement, Angel,” he sighed, running his fingers one last time over his wings. When his fingers failed to snag or be sliced on sharp edges, he gave a quiet noise of satisfaction. “All done.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiled, giving his wings a quick shake. “Do you want me to do yours, my dear?”

Crowley glared at him. “Absssolutely _not_. I’ve ssseen angels’ attemptsss at grooming.”

Aziraphale held up his hands in surrender, laughing at him. “I won’t touch them, my dear. No need to get so upset.”

Anathema stared at Aziraphale’s wings. After a moment, he noticed and looked worriedly at her. “Is everything alright, my dear?”

She nodded mutely. “I… Can I…” She shook her head and tried to snap out of it, “Sorry, Azi.”

Aziraphale looked confusedly at Crowley who sighed at him. “She wants to touch your wings, Angel.”

“Oh?” He blinked, startled. “Is that… That is, _do_ you want to?” 

Blushing a little, she nodded. 

“Oh,” he said again, before smiling. “Well, then, why didn’t you say so?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Just be gentle. Try not to pull any feathers out.”

Anathema, almost gingerly, ran one finger down the pure white feathers. “Oh!” she said. “They’re soft.”

Aziraphale craned his neck around to look at her as best he could. “Of course they’re soft,” he said, a little put out. Crowley snorted. “I might not put as much effort into grooming as Crowley, but that doesn’t mean I completely ignore it.”

“Of course not,” she said quickly, giving them another stroke. Aziraphale relaxed into it a little. A little sigh slipped out and Crowley, behind his glasses, rolled his eyes. “I just didn’t know what to expect.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Aziraphale admitted. “Not many humans who go around touching celestial’s wings.”

“But some do?”

“Oh, yes. I think Gabriel had to let Mary touch them to prove he was real. The poor dear had had quite a shock.” Aziraphale sighed, this time more irritable than relaxed, and one of his wings - the one Anathema wasn’t in danger of being hit by - fluttered in what was almost similar to a shrug. “I did suggest to him that I deliver the Message, being better acquainted with humans, but he wouldn’t allow it, and we ended up with a fourteen-year-old girl having to deal with a bloody archangel.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “We’ve heard it before, Angel.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Anathema said.

Crowley grumbled but Aziraphale tsked. “The birth of Christ was almost as badly managed as the birth of the Anti-Christ. First Gabriel tries to give a girl a panic attack, and then Joseph tries to divorce her! That took some miracles to sort out, I can tell you. A whole damned dream sequence had to be arranged, and-”

“No,” Crowley decided. “That’s enough. Anathema might not have heard it before, but I’ve heard it far too many times. Talk about something else.”

“Talk about flying,” Anathema said after a moment filled with Aziraphale pouting. “I always wanted to fly when I was a little girl. I tried to magic myself into a bird, once.” Crowley raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed a little. She let go of Aziraphale’s wing and sat on the floor next to him. He looked at her for a moment and then, little by little, wrapped his wing around her. She took in a little breath, surprised, and then grinned. It was soft and warm and sheltered. Safe. Peaceful. Without thinking, she leaned into Aziraphale’s side - he froze for a moment before relaxing. [3] Aziraphale shot Crowley a beseeching look - with a huff, the demon slid off the sofa and landed next to the angel, close enough that he could wrap Crowley in his wing, too. They both pretended that Crowley wasn’t enjoying it.

“Flying,” Aziraphale repeated. He looked at Crowley. “How do you describe flying, my dear?”

Crowley thought a moment. “It’s like… Driving the Bentley at ninety miles an hour in a thirty zone.” Aziraphale shot him a look that he expertly ignored. “Or… The moment you’re hurtling down a rollercoaster.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “It’s not that nauseating, my dear.”

“Rollercoasters aren’t nauseating, Angel. You’re just ridiculous.”

He huffed. Anathema giggled a little and then sighed. Her mind was empty and calm, filled with the smell of Aziraphale’s cologne and hot chocolate. “I wish I could fly.”

There’s a strange thing that can happen between two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, in which they lock eyes and have a conversation without words. Like parents whose child asked for ice cream, and they’re trying to decide whether they’d rather deal with a tantrum or a sugar-high. Looking at Aziraphale and Crowley, Anathema felt rather the same as she had as a child, right after asking for ice cream.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said after a moment.

Aziraphale gave his best entreating look, “Oh, my dear, it wouldn’t be too difficult, surely.”

“No - _no,_ Angel!”

“I’d handle all of it, you’d just be… a seatbelt.”

“I’m against seatbelts.”

Aziraphale pouted. Anathema lifted her head for a moment to look at them. “What’s going on?”

“Aziraphale thinks he can carry you whilst flying, give you a taste of it.”

Anathema’s eyes lit up and Crowley groaned. “Go- Sa- _Someone_ damn it. _Fine_.” He pointed a particularly irritated finger at a particularly smug-looking angel. “You owe me so much wine.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Until the true End of Time, Aziraphale would insist that the fact his other wing swung around to smack Crowley in the face was pure instinct. For the record, nobody believed him. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Aziraphale wouldn’t actually tell her that his feathers were ineffable. He would explain that mortals struggle with items of divinity but that, if they meditated or otherwise cleared their mind, they’d be able to explain it all well enough. [return to text]
> 
> 3 Despite their reputation for love, angels tended to love from a distance. The most affection they ever showed was to very young angels, who would - very occasionally - be allowed to shelter under an older angel’s wing if they were overwhelmed. Which meant, of course, that it had been a good while since anyone but Crowley had given Aziraphale physical affection, and even Crowley didn’t do that very often. (Aziraphale was finding that he quite liked it. It was comfortable.) [return to text]


End file.
